Afterglow
by xhere.there.nowherex
Summary: Written Post-6B and Pre-Os.  My take on what happened behind that closed door.
1. Part I

This is the product of several hours of lost sleep, anal retentive editing, and spontaneous partial beta-ing. I dedicate this piece to the ever gracious, and truly lovely Ambre (elialys), who I absolutely adore. Without her assistance and encouragement, I would not have been able to successfully complete my story. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I also owe a huge thank you to the entire Fringe community in general, for inspiring me while writing this, and a special thanks to Lori (noz4a2) and Dani (ThroughTheVoid) who bothered me until I posted this here. It's been on my LJ for over a week now. Whooops...

So, yada yada, I don't own FRINGE or anything related to the show. This is purely for entertainment purposes.

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He's half dazed as he watches his body react to her gentle tug, leading him up the stairs. He sees rather than feels his legs march the rest of him up the steps, following her lead, but when a fine layer of sweat begins to coat his palms, that he feels. That, along with a gentle squeeze from the hand of the enigmatic figure guiding him to his room, which feels like an exotic, foreign, and altogether new destination. He can't recall exactly when it was he'd last let anyone enter his room willingly, and with his permission. He is, and always has been, an extremely private person, and for as long as he remembers, his room has been his sanctuary. He always felt safe in his room, it's where he would escape to when everything started becoming more than he could take. He feels safe, now, with her, so he lets her in.

Once he's shut the door, and locked it for good measure, their shoes are the first to go, in an almost frenzied manner. As they stand barefoot, and he watches her hands jump to the first button on her coat, he stills them. She looks up at him, not taken aback, nor hesitant or doubting, but curious. He smiles lazily at her, and pulls her into a languid, sweet kiss. Her mouth opens slowly to him, and his tongue tentatively seeks hers. The longer the kisses last, the deeper they become, and as they progress, the less they taste like bourbon, and the more they taste uniquely of whatever it is that makes up Olivia Dunham and Peter Bishop. He unbuttons her coat, and pulls it slowly from her heated form, hanging it over his desk chair. He's a trifle more swift as he dexterously removes her blouse and gracefully places it over her jacket. He's mesmerised by the minute heaving of her chest, and as he starts to lean in to kindle the fire he senses building between them, she stops him. She smiles mischievously at him as she gives him the once over, and he humourously muses to himself that all is fair in love, and war.

The way she lifts his shirt over his head, marveling at the sinuous texture of muscle moving beneath his toned skin, is like nothing he's ever experienced before. For the first time in a long time, he feels nonpareil, desirable and desired, and most importantly, loved. Her delicate hands splay across his chest, lingering before her fingertips skitter over his torso, and he shudders, nigh imperceptibly. She, however, perceives this, as he anticipated she would, and captures his lips with hers in what he can only describe as the most reassuring kiss he's ever been given. She wants him, _only him_, and he knows this definitively. That tangible fact, the knowledge of being wanted, and the feeling that couples it, makes him feel more whole than he has felt throughout his life.

She reaches for his belt as he begins to remove her distinctive black bra. He traces every single centimetre of skin he's exposed, obsessively intent on precisely memorising every meticulous detail of this woman. When he lowers his mouth to her neck, grazing her skin with his teeth, and runs his tongue over her quickening pulse, her characteristically steady hands fumble. By the time his lips have mercilessly surrounded her nipple, and his tongue soothes the slight pressure he applies with his teeth, her head is tipped back, hands clawing his shoulders. When he feels her breath catch, and the mellow tones of dissonant pleasure begin to emanate from her depths, he silences her with a stilling kiss. He feels her resistance, and realises that she is trying to speak, but for reasons he does not quite understand, he needs her to let him be. He presses a rapid succession of frenetic kisses to her lips, and lets her lead him to his bed.

He's momentarily startled when it's the backs of her knees that hit the mattress instead of his. Seconds tick by discordantly as he stands dumbfounded. He blinks away his confusion and sees her smiling coyly up at him, one arm suspended carelessly around his neck, the other imperiously guiding his hand to the fastening of her FBI standard issue black trousers. They slink to the floor silently, sliding down her silken skin, and he can't help but stare. She must have expected him to allow her to do the same with his dark blue denim, because she gasps when he lays her out before him, devouring her with his gaze, keen on knowing absolutely every facet of her. She looks up at him expectantly, the trust behind her eyes unwavering. A boyish grin spreads across his handsome features as he climbs over her, releasing her hair from the tightly wound band, and as he runs a hand through her hair, he pulls her into a sultry kiss. Allowing himself to get lost in this moment, the feeling of her nearly naked body beneath him, it isn't until her body arches off the bed into his that he's made aware that she was able to remove his jeans.

He runs his fingers across her glistening forehead and through her hair again, and begins working his way down. He watches the taut muscles of her abdomen contract and relax, feels them flexing against his tongue and lips, in her failing attempt to calm her breathing. Despite her superfluous efforts to retain control, her breath is fluttering out in short, sharp bursts of thus far sustainable pleasure. He toys with her hips, nipping and sucking so gently she has to focus each of her faculties on the sensation. She exhales approvingly as he draws her panties down her long, slender legs and groans softly at their absence. He's nowhere near finished his thorough and fastidious study of her, and by this point, she's allowed him to take the lead. Judging by her silent surrender, he thinks that she must understand, at least on some level, what he's trying so diligently to accomplish.

This time, he starts with her delicate feet, but instead of working his way up, he draws her down to where he's kneeling at the foot of his bed. Just as he feels her aiming to sit herself up, his tongue surges into her searing, saturated core. Out of his peripheral vision, he can see her hands fisting his sheets, and he hears her sudden intake of breath. Several moments pass without its release, and he wonders whether or not she's forgotten how to breathe. When her need for oxygen finally registers, the captive breath billows out in a euphonic, lilting wave of harmonious moans that sound the way honey tastes. The dulcet whimpering intoxicates him, and drives him deeper into her folds, as her hands run through his sweat-dampened hair, spurring him on. His heartbeat quickens with her obvious delight in his ministrations. He could not remember how long he had been wondering what she would taste of, and had gracefully hidden his disappointment in the aversion that the woman whom he had thought to be his exhibited towards this particular act. Now, he was scarcely able to contain his feverish thrill at the encouragement he was receiving. He gripped her hips to still her, and pulled her closer, his tongue unrelenting in its assault to her slick insides. He heard her whispering his name as her muscles tensed around his invading presence, but did not desist until she asserted softly, "Please."


	2. Part II

He withdrew, and regarded her with serious, searching eyes. The desperation in her plea was etched into her features, along with a carnal need that matched his. He ran his thumb across her furrowed brow, smiling gently at her. He knew that look. It was the one she had whenever too many emotions where swirling just beneath the surface fighting for dominance, while she was trying desperately to figure out which one should win out. He watched her breathing unsteadily, waited for her to regain her composure. His thumb continued its path down her flushed cheek, to her chin, tilting it gently so that he could just barely brush his lips against hers in the faintest of kisses. He readily followed as she positioned herself fully back on his bed, bringing him with her. This time, he did not interfere as her subtle fingertips swept down his chest and around his waist to remove his boxers. His breath plummeted out in heavy gasps, and he shuddered as her nimble hand encircles his throbbing erection. A moan, barely above a whisper, which resembled the syllables of her name slips past his lips. She quivers in her growing anticipation below him. Uncertain as to whether she's drawing him down into her or he's gathering her up onto him, they seemingly fall together, an impassioned mess of tangled limbs and jumbled sounds enmeshed in bedsheets.

His forehead rests gently in the sheltered space where her shoulder joined her neck as her body adjusts to his. She hooks one leg around him while teasingly running her toes up his calf before it listlessly joins the other. Their lips ghost over each others, hot, panting breaths mingling. He drove his hips slowly down into hers, while she rolled hers up to receive him. He was determined to make each thrust into her as long and drawn out as possible. He wanted to remember everything; every minuscule feeling, sound, sight, smell, taste. He wanted to remember all of her, and of him; all of them as one. She didn't seem to mind his steady, leisurely pace, and allowed her hands to freely roam his figure. He then focused his energy on the sensation of her sleek, skintight, wet heat. He marveled at the way her pliable form curved upward into him, the contours of her figure melding to his. He cherished every blissful note that hissed its way past her lips and dissolved amidst the viscid humidity in the atmosphere their bodies were generating. Each discernible scent and taste that comprised the individual layers of skin he undauntedly explored with his tongue was assiduously archived to be eternally savoured. He was abruptly aware of her palms pressed firmly against backside, and groaned as her fingers dug into his flesh, an unspoken entreaty, desperately seeking more. He caught her gaze as he retreated nearly completely from her depths, and witnessed the way she tilted her head back to scream aloud when he rapidly descended into her, plunging as deeply as was enabled by the angling of their pelvises. He felt the press of her iliac crests against his as he unyieldingly slid in and out of her, sinking further inside of her with each subsequent movement. He tried to keep his gasps and pants as hushed as possible, and nearly cursed when he let out a reverberating moan that overpowered the sound of her voice. The cumulative intensity of their breathing momentarily drowned out the din of their love-making as he felt her stir around him. The overwhelming fluttering of her muscles as she begins to unravel and clenches firmly around him breaks the silence, filling the air with tumultuous moans of ecstasy from both. He reveled in the passionate cry, assuming the form of his name, expressing her hedonistic satisfaction as her orgasm ripples through her whole being and washes over him in an unfettered, chaotic torrent. With one last powerful thrust into her, his release comes erupting out of his core, forcing his eyes to shut and his head to bow as he emits libidinous exclamations of primal, erotic bliss.

Before his somatic gratification finishes pouring forth from him like molten lava, he feels her ignite internally again. She hurriedly begins grating her swollen, raw center over his quivering, sensitive member, lifting him off the bed somewhat with the force of her undulating hips, her spine furling and unfurling intemperately. He rocks gently into her, allowing her free rein as he acquiescently rides out the crest of her wanton wave. Suddenly, her pleasure bursts forth from deep within her, and she throws her head back while her body arches up into his, crying out with reckless abandon. He wraps his arms tightly around her, and she clings to him while the resonating vibrations of their simultaneous and combustive fulfillment fade into a dull hum. Once their frantic passion has subsided, he carefully settles her back down on his bed, situating the pair of them so that he could support himself above her. Her form remains tense, unwilling to relinquish him from her firm grasp. His fervent lips and tongue glide over hers while his strong, dedicated hands ardently caress her until he feels her go lax beneath him. He kisses down her neck and all over her chest as she disentangles her limbs from his. She uncoils her lithe legs and straightens them alongside his, allowing him to ease effortlessly out of her and lie beside her.


	3. Part III

He greedily sucks in heavy gulps of air, and briefly imagines that he is shaking from exhaustive overexertion on all fronts. He instantly deciphers that it is not he who is shaking. Regarding the exquisite, ethereal being lying next to him, he comprehends that the unrest is a direct result of her trembling. Watching her tremble, he thinks that this may be the single most beautiful thing he has ever seen. He is entranced by the fascinating manner of her quaking muscles. The tremor in her breath as it pulsates through her lungs and staggers out is hypnotising. His gaze lingers, transfixed on her. He cannot recall when he had last seen her so unreserved and open, her emotions issuing out of her unchecked. He is wholeheartedly unprepared for what he hears next. As her breath stutters out in an erratic staccato, she begins to sound close to tears. He murmurs, "Hey," as he rests his hand on her cheek, then runs it through her disheveled hair and pulls her into a comforting, steadfast embrace. Using hushed tones, he is able to quiet her down, and only slackens his grip once she is consoled enough to breathe normally again. He kisses her forehead, and she smiles as she closes her eyes. She deftly skims her fingers down his side, tracing the outline of his ribs. When she drifts over a particularly ticklish spot he recoils, and she laughs. He chuckles softly, amused at the way her laughter causes her nose to crinkle. He reckons that she has the most endearing and infectious laugh he has ever heard, and he would do anything he could to hear her laugh every day. She explores his torso for a few moments more, before dropping her hands between them and looking down.

"What?" His earnest voice interrupts the sated tranquility.

She looks up at him and frowns, unsure of how to tactfully pose her question. She taps her fingers apprehensively against the space between their bodies, and runs a decisive circle over it with her palm.

After a handful of false starts, she finally opens her mouth assertively to ask, "Did I do okay?"

He has no idea what she's talking about, so he answers her question with one of his own, "What do you mean, 'Did I do okay'? Did you do what okay?"

She places her fingers on her lower lip, and clarifies, "Was I as good as she was?" She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, and gently nibbles it.

"As good as..." he's about to ask her to whom she's referring when it hits him like a train steaming along at full speed. He props himself up on his arm so he is poised above her.

"Olivia," his expression is serious as he looks down at her, and his tone indicates that he is sorely vexed.

"Please, Peter," she appeals insecurely, "I just... I need to know." She lets her eyes shut for several seconds and takes a deep breath before meeting his gaze.

He softens a bit, but is still riled as he explains exasperatedly, "Olivia, I don't know how many times we're going to have to go over this before I get it through your stubborn head that the only reason I would think about her, is you. I didn't want to think about her, but every time I have thought about you, and about your understandably less than warm feelings towards me in the weeks since you came back, I inevitably thought of her. You know why that is, but what you don't seem to understand is that I have thought of you for far longer than I'll ever think of her."

Her brow creased slightly, but she let him continue his explanation.

"Yes," he affirmed to dispel her confusion, "I used to think about you all the time, Olivia, before we even knew that there was an alternate universe. It would almost literally drive me insane, and there were times when I was trying so hard to figure you out that I couldn't sleep. I still think about you; you still keep me up at night. So, it's only natural for me to dwell on what happened with her. Not a day goes by that I don't blame myself for what happened, for my own mistake, and I'm going to have to live with that for the rest of my life. But tonight, with you..." he sighed pensively, "This was the first time that I didn't have a single thought concerning her whatsoever. I wasn't thinking about her at all, because I was so engrossed in you that she never even occurred to me, not once, and I get why you felt the need to ask, and I can't lie and say that sex with her was bad, but that's all it was. It was sex. It was what she used to propagate a lie. I'm not going to go into vivid detail and give you a blow-by-blow description of what she did, because frankly, I'm tired of thinking about it and it's already starting to fade. All of that is in the past. I want to have new experiences and make new memories with you. Tonight, us, this," he motioned back and forth between them, "it wasn't just sex. It was more than that. At least for me it was, and you completely overshadowed any memory I have of her. What I felt when we," he again gesticulated with his hands, "It was like nothing I have ever experienced in my life. You make me feel things I never knew possible. I thought I'd made that clear to you tonight, and I'm at a complete loss as to how else I can prove it to you, because Olivia, I-"

He was abruptly cut off as she quickly sealed her lips over his. Placing her hand at the nape of his neck, she deepened the kiss. After they parted, their eyes remain closed for several moments.


	4. Part IV

He was looking down at her hazily when she slowly opened her eyes and hesitantly lifted her gaze to meet his, while breathing out, "I love you." She swallowed thickly.

He pulled his head back, blinked, and regarded her with amusement. She waited for his response, and fidgeted beneath the sheets.

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure I caught that. I think you're going to have to repeat it," he said with far too much mirth. He grinned at her, and she smiled and laughed softly at his egotism.

"I said," she reiterated, "I love you, Peter."

His lips captured hers possessively, and she smiled against his.

His wide smile never faded as he told her, "I loved you first."

She laughed profoundly at that, and he took advantage of her unsuspecting demeanor. Her laughter continued to bubble up despite the fervent kisses he was planting on her lips while he had her pinned beneath him.

"It's true," he confessed between kissing her, "I'm hopeless... It's so pathetic."

He then sealed his lips over her as she parted her mouth, allowing his tongue to tease hers. She moaned into his mouth when he ground his hips down into her, his growing erection sliding against her now wet center. He rubbed himself against her repeatedly, in opposition with the pattern of his tongue moving in and out of her mouth. He could feel her growing hotter by the minute, and was about to take her again when she pushed him back.

"Peter," it was more of a moan than anything else, but it stilled him nonetheless.

He had positioned himself at her entrance, and was looking down at her questioningly.

"Uh-uh," she shook her head, smiling playfully, "My turn."

He gasped as she effortlessly flipped them so he was laying flat on his back. He watched her crawl beneath the covers, and was about to ask her just what exactly she was doing when he felt her mouth close over his erection. His hips involuntarily jerk upward and a deep, guttural whimper betrayed his feigned impassivity.

"Olivia!" he shouted emphatically as a sharp burst of air bellowed out of his lungs, followed by a cavalcade of cacophonous groans and other indeterminable salacious sounds that left him gasping for breath.

He felt her tongue lace around him, relishing dizzying patterns up and down his length while she sucked on him possessively. He writhed, powerless beneath her, as she absorbed the whole of him, massaging his length with the velvety texture of her soft lips.

"Oh go-. Oh," he huffed out through rasping moans, "Olivia."

Her name spiraled through the air as one elongated hymn of thick desire. He seized her ankles, clutching onto her desperately. His hands are creeping up her calves that frame his sides as she increases the intensity of the attention her mouth delivers. He loses himself in the audible chorus of sucking sounds she makes as she laps at him, and hisses harshly. In a futile attempt to reciprocate her licentious deeds, he palms her taut bottom while surreptitiously snaking a finger through her folds. Certain this would throw her off balance at least temporarily, he's astounded when her hands join her lips and tongue in the assault against his groin and she sucks harder, her mouth pulling him further down her throat. He grips one of her hips and inserts another finger to curl into her recesses, generously stroking her tender knot of nerves with his thumb. The fingertips of one hand responsively dig into his thigh, and those of the other clumsily clasp his wrist to control the force with which his fingers plunge into her. Just as he feels about ready to nearly break, her onslaught of oral pleasure ceases. Without warning, she straddles him upright and indomitably sinks down onto him.

His eyes roll back in his head and he growls savagely. He pushes his pelvis against her in an unsophisticated, crude manner. Her hips sway gently against his, seeking self-gratification as she takes the lead. He is thoroughly beguiled as he watches her lips curve into a delighted, racy smile. Entranced, he submissively observes her self-indulgence, running a hand through her own hair while the other presses onto his chest for support. His eyes follow the path her fingers trace down her neck, around her breasts, and past her abdomen as she touches herself. He wants to shout and cry out in his ecstasy, but his mind has lost its capacity to form coherent syllables, and words are a distant memory as his primal senses inundate his being. Overrun with the fire sparked by the unforgiving invasion of her fingers in the space occupied by their adjoined bodies, he settles on a low snarl that unravels and builds in his depths rushing out as a husky groan. He fiercely grabs ahold of her middle while pitching his hips slightly to one side and begins pulling her violently down onto him. The syncing of the movement of their bodies as one takes on the appearance of a maelstrom; a turbulent eddy swirling in his sheets.

"Oh, Peter!" she calls out, grinning lasciviously.

Startled, he looks up at her, and notes that he has never seen her look so carefree as she does in that moment.

She leans forward, curving her spine, to whisper boisterously in his ear, "Harder."

He curses under his breath when she careens into him with increasing momentum, and has to tighten his hold on her to match her fervor.

"Peter!" she repeats, over and over, sometimes as a whisper, others an unrestrained feral moan.

She picks up the pace along with the speed of her rocking hips, and he begins gasping when what little breath he has left vacates his lungs as she steals it away.

"Faster, Peter, please," she commands, and then, "Oh, god!" once he lets himself go, pouring every remaining ounce of energy into satisfying her every wish.

His auditory senses are suddenly overwhelmed by the sound of their amalgamated screaming as they call each others' names while falling over the edge. She collapses over him in a fit of laughter, briskly lifting herself off of him to sprawl out beside him. Her laughter is contagious, and he greedily gathers her into him, kissing the side of her mouth possessively and growling, "Mine." She responds by nipping at his lips, which provokes him to nibble hers back.


	5. Part V

Before long, their kisses grow soft and sweet, slowing until they stop altogether. He reclines next to her, content to simply behold her as she shifts, stretching an arm out to relieve the stiffness in her weary muscles. As her agile figure extends, the infinitesimal glint of the oblique sunlight peeking past his tightly drawn curtains illuminates her, gleaming off of her hair and her skin. She sighs exuberantly, then cuddles up against him, nestling her head beneath his chin, between his neck and shoulder. He feels her arm slide across his middle and settle warmly around him. In return, he envelops her in a protective and caring embrace. She slips one of her legs between his upon snuggling closer, and he affectionately kisses the top of her head, effectively muffling the faint "I love you" that he whispers as they drift off into a peaceful slumber in the serene tranquility of early morning.


	6. Part VI Epilogue

After the transient passing of a few glorious hours of undisturbed sleep, Peter gradually opens his eyes, blinking to focus his bleary vision. He hungrily drank in the untroubled form of the bare woman lying still, sleeping easily at his side. His gaze followed the gentle cadence of the rise and fall of her chest as she quietly respired. He grinned as he subtly swept his fingers down her side, causing her to stir momentarily. He continued tracing his fingers along vagrant paths across her back, unable to refrain from caressing her smooth, satiny skin. Rousing from the calm repose she had acclimated to in the generous warmth and security of his arms, she let her fingers flit over the sinewed contours of his chest and the rugged planes of his abdomen. Awakening at last, her eyes flutter open and she smiles sweetly up at him. Her silhouette glows in the brilliant daylight that radiates intrusively through his curtained window, its increasing luminosity indicative of midmorning. He finds her hushed incandescence enchanting and lounges leisurely whiling away idle minutes before speaking.

"Hi," he murmured gruffly, his thick voice plagued with sleep.

"Hi," she mimicked in a mellow tone.

He exhaled deeply, locking eyes with her as she brought her hand up to trace the outline of his strong jaw with her elegant fingers. They wandered their way up his unshaven cheek and continued on past his temple, diffidently skirting his hairline before raking through his hair. She pulled him into a drowsy but passionate kiss. Their mouths parted, tongues intertwined, as their lethargy ebbed into an energy that was rapidly gaining momentum. She wove one of her arms down, lacing her fingers with his.

She ended the kiss to raise her head and look down at him. Regarding him with amorous joie de vivre, she said with a lilt in her voice, "Good morning."

"Indeed," he hummed drolly, tucking fallen strands of hair behind her ear and running a thumb across her cheek.

She laughed as he rolled them over so she was bathed in the permeating sunlight, and he showered her with doting, tender kisses. His prickly stubble tickled her skin, and she teasingly swatted at his shoulders, wriggling away from him. She cleverly evaded every advance he made in attempt to pursue her, leaving them both chuckling lightheartedly. They quieted, sighing and catching their breaths. Suddenly, perplexity beset her features and her searching eyes darted around the room.

"What?" he inquired, knitting his brow.

"It's quiet," she stated conclusively.

"Hmm? It's usually not this... Oh god, Walter," he said urgently.

"Yeah," she replied concurrently, nodding her head.

"I have no idea if he came home last night or not," he stated obviously, then cursed under his breath, "Shit."

He ran a hand frustratedly over his face, muttering self-deprecating expletives. She grabbed ahold of his hand and shushed him. He glanced at her with an expression of wild confusion.

"Listen," she said.

He watched her watching the ceiling as they both strained their ears. He distantly heard the faint noise of someone shuffling around in the kitchen. He sighed in relief, and relaxed until their present situation fully hit him. He gawked at her stupidly.

"What?" she said unfazed.

"Walter is downstairs," he explained as if she should understand.

She looked at him, not comprehending whatever it was he was trying to get at.

"In the kitchen," he expounded.

"Yes?" she questioned.

"You have to walk past the kitchen to get to the front door," he explained fretfully.

She laughed softly and said, "Peter, I know how I got here."

"But, but Walter's in the kitchen," he stated with exasperation.

"Your point is?" her voice trailed off teasingly.

"Olivia," he spoke pragmatically, "you do understand that once he realises that we spent the night together, we'll never hear the end of it, right? Not that I want to hide whatever this is from everyone," her brow knit in mild confusion, but she didn't interject, "but as soon as Walter knows, he won't leave us alone. So, unless you're prepared to face an incessant incursion of Walter's wonderfully traumatising reminiscence of his past encounters, not to mention a particularly detailed lecture, we need to find you a way out that doesn't include parading past Walter."

She nodded her head in agreement while stating, "You've got a point."

"So," she mulled, "What do we do?"

He shrugged, "I guess we can wait and listen for him to hopefully leave the kitchen some time soon?"

They both shifted in the bed preparing to get up and gather their clothing when an unexpected knock stopped them dead in their tracks. They both swiftly scrambled back beneath the covers as quietly as possible and lie together, holding their breaths.

"Oh, Peter?" Walter called gleefully through the locked door.

"What do you want, Walter?" Peter grumbled, never taking his eyes off of Olivia, who was biting her lip.

With a cheery tone, Walter inquired, "I'm in the process of making breakfast, and was just wondering if Olivia would be joining us."

Peter's eyes widened in minor panic and a nervous laugh silently escaped Olivia.

"Walter, I don't know what-" Peter tried in vain to cover up their current predicament, but was abruptly cut off by Walter.

"Oh, please, how oblivious do you think I am? I noticed Agent Dunham's vehicle in front of our home when I came in last night. I'm not _that_ clueless!" Walter said sounding far too amused for Peter's taste. He then added inconspicuously, "Does she like waffles?"

"Waffles sound great, Walter, thanks," Olivia answered.

Peter raised an eyebrow at her and she smirked, "What? I love waffles."

"Oh, good morning, dear. I was beginning to worry that you'd lost your voice, which wouldn't be surprising after-" Walter started saying.

"_Walter_!" Peter cut him off immediately, nonplussed, "Go."

"Well, it's not exactly as though the two of you seemed concerned with..." they heard him mutter testily as he made his way back to the kitchen.

Peter groaned and pulled a pillow over his face, "Oh my god."

"Could be worse," Olivia pointed out matter-of-fact, then smiled warmly at him as he peeked up at her from behind his pillow.

"Come here."

They laughed as he pulled her into him and kissed possessively before reluctantly leaving his bed to dress for breakfast.

_**Fin**_.


End file.
